


Cold Feet

by White Aster (white_aster)



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Brotherhood, Community: newgameplus, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-07
Updated: 2010-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Feet

"This," Sabin observed, as he tried to edge himself further between a pillar and a huge arrangement of white flowers, "is _insane_."

"No more so than a large man in red velvet attempting to hide behind a potted plant," Figaro's chief of security observed, eyes panning back and forth over the Great Hall one story below.

Sabin sighed, "Not working, huh?"

"Not unless you're _trying_ to look ridiculous."

The Crown Prince of Figaro straightened, peering around warily. When there was no sign of anyone rushing the balcony to usher him off to give his opinion on some trivial detail or to attempt to flatter him or to introduce him to their daughter/cousin/niece/sister (or, in one case where Sabin at least had to give the man points for being well-informed, their son), he breathed a little easier. "Better ridiculous than caught. I lost that last bunch by running up here." He shrugged a few flower petals off his shoulder. "The last thing I need is more people attempting to throw their daughters at me." He grinned. "I thought you'd at least support me on that front."

"Mmm," Shadow said agreeably, eyes still on the bustling and rapidly-filling Hall. Somehow, dressed in gray and having long since ditched his signature mask, he all but blended into the wall he was leaning against with deceptive casualness. Deceptive, as no one below could see the cocked and fully-loaded crossbow leaning against the wall beside him or the other leaning against the balcony wall itself. Shadow might prefer swords, but he was an incredibly good shot, as anyone stupid enough to attempt an assassination at the ceremony would find out. "However, I have absolutely no fear that you'll be swept away by some beautiful young noblewoman in a ridiculous hat."

Sabin snorted a laugh as he leaned on the balcony, looking down cautiously at the slowly-filling hall. "Saw that, did you?"

"I see everything," Shadow said serenely. Sabin had to admit that the view was impressive. The Figaro Castle Great Hall could hold almost a thousand people if they didn't mind getting friendly, and from the balcony he could see all of it except the very back, under their feet. The guests were starting to find their seats, and the audience alternated between the men's sober grays and duns and blacks and the women's bright dresses. Someone had decided that the current ladies' fashion was vivid color: crimson and emerald and violet (but no blues, as that would be for the Figaro groom and bride), with improbably high hats topped with dyed chocobo feathers. Sabin could make out off to one side the very noblewoman that Shadow was probably referring to: a petite little thing with a deceptively soft voice and a vivid purple hat that was almost taller than she was. She'd cornered him in the Hall an hour earlier, her parents at either elbow and a determined glint in her eye. Sabin had eventually escaped from the skilled onslaught of polite flattery and veiled hints and bobbing feathers via the time-honored tradition of the strategic retreat: a completely fabricated responsibility that he had almost forgotten but had to attend to right away, very important, so very sorry, my lady, perhaps we can chat later.....

Sabin shook his head at the waving sea of feathers. "Honestly, one good breeze'll clear out the Hall. They'll drift all the way to Mobliz...."

An almost-smile flitted across Shadow's lips, as good as a full-bellied laugh from other men, Sabin had reason to know. Shadow's eyes never left their patient scrutiny of the hall, though, and Sabin sighed. At least Shadow had something to do that involved being more than an oversized ornament for the duration of the festivities. "Need any more hands? Eyes? Feet? I can be a really awesome errand boy...."

"I doubt that anyone would approve of me enlisting the Crown Prince and best man in the security detail."

"The Crown Prince would. It'd at least make him a moving target."

Shadow shifted his stance slowly, rocking from heel to toe in a way that Sabin recognized from long nights on watch. "I think we're covered without having to recruit the wedding party." Shadow glanced over, "Though I _was_ counting on you keeping an eye on the floor during the ceremony. I figured that that went without saying."

Sabin mock-saluted with a grin. "No one watches Edgar's back better than me. Though really, I'm not so sure I want to see anyone who'd try a close-quarters attack while _I'm_ standing right there. Speaking of which...where's Edgar gotten to? We got separated after breakfast and every time I try to find him...." He waved a hand.

"...feathers?"

"_Yes._"

"I haven't seen him lately. He's not due here until the ceremony starts. There's a guard detail on him. They checked in almost an hour ago."

Sabin looked at him. "...you've got a guard detail on him? In the _castle_?"

Shadow raised an eyebrow. "In the castle which is currently thrown wide open, the grounds invaded by an extra three thousand people? All of whom have made it diffucult to determine who is supposed to be here and who is not? Yes. Yes, I do."

Sabin shook his head, smiling. "If this is what you do when you don't expect trouble, I'd hate to see what you'd do if there were actual death threats."

Shadow smiled. Actually smiled. It was kind of frightening and yet made Sabin want to jump his bones right there on the balcony. Wouldn't _that_ make the flock of potential brides' feathers fall out?

Sabin pushed away from the balcony, sighing. "I'd better go find him. He's probably starting to freak out right about now."

Shadow cocked his head and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "He didn't seem nervous earlier."

"Heh." Sabin's lopsided grin was knowing. "Yeah, to you or the rest of the world." He checked over the balcony once more to make sure that no feathered hats were turned his way and made a break for it.

He found Edgar in his refuge, his sanctum, his hiding place since he'd gotten old enough to hold a soldering iron. Sabin leaned against the doorway to the workshop and said, "The guards outside kind of give you away, you know."

Edgar started, eyes big behind his magnifying lenses. He sighed, pulling the glasses off and setting them and his screwdriver down on the bench. "I thought I'd gotten away from them. I appreciate that they just waited outside."

"Yeaaaah, I think that you could defend yourself in here," Sabin said, nodding at the autocrossbow and chainsaw hanging on the wall. Not the shiniest weapons in the place, but certainly the most well-used. The chainsaw housing still bore scratches and a slightly melted corner from the last battle with Kefka.

Edgar looked over at them and smiled fondly. "Well, yes." He started out of his reverie after a moment. "Is it time? What time _is_ it, anyway?" He made an abortive reach for his watch chain, then thought better of it and took off his workgloves and leather apron first. Underneath it, his wedding clothes--rich blue like always but with enough gold trim to sink an airship--were only slightly the worse for wear. Sabin didn't realize that he was smiling until Edgar looked at him funny and said, "What?"

Sabin shrugged. "Nothing. Same old you. Remember our coming-of-age ball?"

"I doubt _anyone_ will forget our coming-of-age ball." Edgar grinned. "You know, Arthus still bugs me about getting that score in the north hall's wall fixed? Honestly, you'd think that the mech had been making for him on _purpose_ or something."

The grin was catching. Sabin had laughed so hard at the chamberlain's panicked face that he'd gotten the hiccups. "Hah! You planning something similar today? Get sent to bed early?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Edgar barked a laugh that sounded slightly strained to Sabin's ears.

"No, runaway mechs are definitely _not_ in the program today, more's the pity." The King of Figaro shuffled his feet, busied himself putting his tools away, then looked up again. "Wait, I'm _not_ late, am I? No, of course not, you'd say."

Sabin pushed away from the doorway. "No, you've got time. Relax." He poked Edgar in one silk-clad shoulder. "Hey. You ok?"

Edgar reached over and poked him back, the brotherly ritual familiar between them. He took a deep breath, hands gripping the side of the bench. "Nervous, I guess. I keep...just...." He shook his head, tossing a few loose screws back into their bins. "Nervous."

"Aw, c'mon, you've done stuff like this before. One more ceremony, right?"

Edgar looked at him and laughed incredulously. "So says the man who'll never get married."

"Hey, as soon as Shadow and I decide who's wearing the dress, we'll be all set."

Edgar braced himself against the bench again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Thank you..._so_ much for that image. I'm never going to be able to look Shadow in the eye again, now."

Sabin thumped the work bench pointedly. "See, I keep_telling_ him that he's the natural choice, but he keeps throwing shurikens at me...."

That won him an honest laugh, and it did Sabin's heart good to hear it. Other people might not have saw the tension in Edgar's stance, the nervous flick to his gaze, the fidget in his hands, but Sabin could, and it'd bothered him all morning.

Edgar reached for his dress gloves, draped out of the way over a low-hanging pipe. He sat down on one of the workbench stools, running the gloves between his fingers idly. "I just.... It just seems so much more real, now. Being King. Before...I felt a bit like a bandage, slapped on after Father died. I made all the decisions, but I always felt like I was just filling in for him. Dealing with the Empire, it was like I was making the decisions he'd make. Well, up until Terra, I guess. I still don't know what Father would have thought about _that_."

"He would have...." _Done the same thing_ was on Sabin's lips, but he knew that it probably was a lie. Stewart Remy Figaro had been a lot of things, but "radical" or "innovative" was not one of them. He never would have thought to have ready the drastic emergency plan that Edgar had devised, let alone actually used it.

Edgar's smile was knowing.

"He'd understand," Sabin said, firmly, lips quirking. "Especially since it worked."

"Heh, yeah. That was Father, all right." Edgar tipped his head back, eyes roving over the ceiling. "Terra, the Ruin, Kefka...he wouldn't have gotten involved in any of it if he could have helped it." Edgar shook his head. "That's part of it. Every step I took away from Figaro felt like I was moving further away from where I was born to be, but also like I couldn't do anything else. I don't regret a second of it, but it was...different, after ten years of playing Father. Even moreso, since I came back. Having to rebuild, recruit, watching the castle fill up again with new faces.... The place is so different now. It's not Father's Figaro anymore. It's mine. And this...today. One more step into uncharted territory." He laughed, and Sabin could tell that it was mostly at himself. "I must sound ridiculous. Honestly, I helped save the world, and I'm worried about having a wife and heirs."

Sabin shrugged, understanding. "It's a different kind of risk. But Helena seems like a nice woman." She had, too, the little that Sabin had talked to her. She was a good match for all the right political reasons, but more importantly she was intelligent, kind, nice sense of humor, and very..._normal_.

"She is," Edgar agreed. "I just...wish I could have spent more time with her first. I've been so busy, and the Council has been so insistent, as if being over thirty means I'm likely to keel over dead at any moment.... It all made perfect sense at the time, but now it seems...rushed." He chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Again, me, complaining that _this_ seems rushed. Eh, I don't even know what I'm saying."

"You're saying you're nervous. Nothing wrong with that." Sabin knew he'd be nervous about marrying someone he'd only spent a few months with, too. Selfish as it was, he thanked the gods every day that it was Edgar that had to marry for politics and not him.

Sabin laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, and Edgar looked up at him, pained. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing and to stop whining."

"You're doing the right thing. Stop whining." Sabin grinned and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "She'll be a perfectly good wife. You'll be a perfectly good husband. Everything will be _fine_."

Edgar took a deep breath. "Right." He stood, straightening his tunic, then checking his watch. "I suppose we should head up. If I'm not visible at least an hour before I need to be somewhere, Arthus might have a coronary, not to mention Helena's mother."

Sabin brushed away a few metal filings that had attached themselves to his sleeve, then sighed, patiently picking them out of his gloves. "Right. Got everything?"

Edgar started, then cursed, hands going to his pockets. He sighed when he patted the right one. "Honestly, I shouldn't be carrying this around. I've been worried all day I'll lose it." He pulled a small box out of his pocket, opening the lid to check on its contents.

Sabin leaned over to get a look. "Oh," he said, softly, then smiled. "I didn't know that you were giving her Mother's ring." He reached out, turning the box in Edgar's hand so he could see Edgar's worklight pick out the familiar golden desert vine engraved on its surface. Queen Crystale hadn't gone a day without it, or so they said, and the only reason it hadn't accompanied her to her funeral pyre was because their father had kept it, wearing it on a chain around his neck long after he'd removed his own wedding ring.

Edgar smiled softly. "Helena has Father's ring, too, to give to me. I thought that Mother and Father would approve."

Sabin nodded. "They would."

Edgar's voice was quiet. "I wish they could be here." He closed the box, looking up to meet Sabin's eyes. "I'm glad _you're_ here. Brother."

Sabin smiled. "Wouldn't be anywhere else. You know that." He reached out, pulling Edgar close, and for a long moment they just rested, foreheads together like they used to do when they were young. Edgar's workshop hissed and hummed and clanked softly all around them.

A voice came from the doorway. "Ah...Your Highness? You said to tell you when it was an hour before--"

"Right! Thanks," Edgar said, pulling back. He nodded at the guard that had poked his head in.

Sabin reached out, straightening Edgar's collar. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Edgar said, pulling on his gloves. His spine straightened and his chin lifted as the King of Figaro came into his stance.

"Want me to hold the ring for you?" Sabin offered. "I mean, if you're worried about it. S'not like we're not going the same place."

Edgar laid his hand over his pocket and smiled. "No. I've got it."

The guards fell in behind them as they headed up the stairs, and the noise and light of the impending festivities closed around them like a velvet fist.

They passed through the north hall, a growing tide of people and details carrying them along past a long scratch in the stone left by a sixteen-year-old Edgar Figaro's runaway mech experiment. Sabin bumped Edgar's shoulder with his own, and they both smiled.


End file.
